


Now You Stand Reborn Before Us All

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Apocalypse, Community: heroes_exchange, Gen, Heroes: Volume 2, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now You Stand Reborn Before Us All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joanne_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/gifts).



> _Peter,_
> 
> _I'm writing this because I'm too afraid to face you - too afraid you'd judge me, the way I judge myself. I want to think you'd understand, but with what's to come, who knows, maybe the you that exists right now won't. That's a good thing, I feel. I'm not sure where to start - remember when we went through our poetry phase when we were sixteen? And Mom went on about how talented we were, but when we showed them to Nathan he laughed. Turns out Nathan's right, I'm just not very good with words. So maybe I'll just start from your beginning, and we'll go from there._

**(One week ago)**

The letters were buried at the bottom of his backpack. Peter was searching for a torchlight when he found them, stacked together and neatly tied with string. Each envelope attentioned to him, but in his own handwriting and dating from the day the virus was released to three years from then. It took him a while to recall, they were in his jacket pocket, so long ago, but then Nathan collapsed and everything went to hell and he'd tossed them here, planning to read them afterwards. Always, planning to read them afterwards.

But perhaps, some part of him didn't want to.

Perhaps some part of him knew what they'd say. By the time he got around to reading them, half of them had been rendered almost illegible, soaked through with what seemed to be dried blood. He tried for ages to recall what had happened, and whose blood it was, but in the end he just gave up, and opened the first one to read.

Peter understood, above all things, that time always wanted to right itself. An accident of nature, born with the ability to mess with it, shouldn't be able to end the world just by stepping on a butterfly. Unless that world was meant to end to begin with. Even before he reached the final letter, he knew.

**(Now)**

The world burns. They pass by bodies slumped over and decomposing in cars, people who had stopped to rest and just decided to die then and there; fires reaching on high. "Don't look," Nathan says, "Don't look," and Claire buries her face in Peter's shirt, but Peter can't stop, not until Nathan looks up into the rearview mirror, briefly, and catches his eye. Then he stares straight ahead instead, at the back of Nathan's head. Fire and brimstone - the end of the world.

Claire can't die, and neither can Peter. René is strong, especially next to Nathan. And yet he's still Nathan Petrelli, inscrutable and indestructible. Peter doesn't worry, except for how much he does. They have Claire's blood, he tells himself, over and over again, and it helps somewhat. Except at night, with Nathan's sleeping in the next room, all Peter can think is how there are so many ways for him to die that would make it impossible for them to put him back together again.

Nathan says, "You need to make sure Claire's okay. Promise me, Peter. If anything should happen to me." And logically Peter's aware of that, and of course he cares about Claire, but she's stronger than she looks, stronger than his once invincible brother. Strange, but at some point saving the world seemed far more important than making sure his brother makes it through the day. At some point, saving the cheerleader seemed like everything. But the cheerleader can regenerate from just about anything, and Nathan Petrelli cannot.

> _Peter,_
> 
> _I saw another future once, where Nathan was president, and everyone had abilities. It was the future that would have come to pass if Nathan had been allowed to tell the world about us. Turns out, that happened anyway, but maybe I'll tell you about that later. That didn't come to pass, obviously, but not for the reasons you might think, if you're reading this in order. That world ended in death and chaos as well, but I stopped it, and sometimes I sit here and I go "what if I had done this instead", but believe me when I say that I've strung together a million and one timelines, and none of them have turned out well. You'll never know what it's like to have a brother that betrays you, and in that way I suppose you're blessed. I'm not trying to justify my actions here, just that you're probably the only one that understands what it's like for me, even if you can't imagine it because it never came to pass._

**(Two weeks ago)**

"There was someone else," he said, and the memory came to him as if it had been buried and was just re-surfacing rather than an incident that he had forgotten - _self-healing_, René would have said.

"There was someone else where," Nathan said.

"At the vault. As I was running in to try and catch the virus. There was someone else there. Just for a second or two. I slowed down to look, but he was already gone. Just a flash."

"So what? How is that relevant at all, Pete."

"It's just - those few seconds, Nathan. And I wasn't in time to catch that vial."

Nathan harrumphed and continued to look unimpressed. Peter knew, Nathan wasn't interested in listening to him talk about alternate timelines or possible futures or possible pasts. Nathan was interested in the here and now, in getting through the day.

**(Now)**

Sometimes, Peter wonders where Adam is. He knows Hiro put him somewhere, but in the end it's a secret that he took to his grave. Adam would be pleased, he knows, to see the world turned to dust like this. Except perhaps not; megalomaniacs only rejoice in the end of the world if it means they get to rule it.

Elle came to his cell, some nights, her fingers little bursts of electricity on his dick - "Don't worry," she liked to say, "I'm sure your swimmers won't die. You'll live to breed yet." But Peter wasn't thinking about breeding then, just the way her hands wrapped around him, and how she rode him, her face a concentrated mask and her body live current that shocked every inch of him, even as he pressed his hand against the wall and he could feel Adam right next door, listening as they both knew he was.

Elle liked to tell him, "You're even more broken than he is, Peter. That's why I like you so much." And he always ignored her when she said it, but it must have been true, or he wouldn't have been so gullible as to listen to the nonsense that Adam sprouted at him.

Adam said, his fingers warm on Peter's face, "We're going to save the world together, you and I." He never fucked Adam, although he knows that's what Nathan thinks - that he'd been seduced and led astray, but the truth of the matter is: Adam had saved Nathan's life, and for all of Peter's reservations, he'd harbored enough goodwill to follow him to hell.

Of course, as it stands right now, it's only partially Adam's fault.

He never wonders where Elle is.

**(Three weeks ago)**

Right before the cell-towers went dead, he finally managed to get in touch with Claire. She said, "Peter? I thought you were dead. I saw in the news. Everyone in Odessa is dead."

"Oh," Peter replied. He hadn't known that. "I'm with Nathan," he said finally. "Where are you?"

She was with René, assigned by Noah to look after his daughter before he died. Peter never asked why René took it upon himself to protect Claire; in the end it was that she needed protection, and there was no one else to do it. Although if you'd ask Claire, she'd say she could take care of herself, thank you very much. They drove two hundred miles to get to them, found them in an abandoned motel right outside of LA. When Peter got out of the car, Claire ran to him and hugged him tight, as if she wouldn't be able to let him go. "Is it just the two of you," she asked.

Nathan said, "Yes," tightly, and turned away. It took him a week before he could even bear to look at her. Peter tried to play mediator, somehow, but Nathan just said, "Stay the fuck out of this," when he broached the subject, and in the end Peter just let Nathan come to terms with it in his own time.

Sleeping was an issue sometimes. Claire said, "I feel safe with René," and then she said, "I'm indestructable, Nathan. What do you think is going to happen to me?" But then again there were worse things that could happen to a pretty young girl than death. In the end they slept, if possible, in adjoining rooms with the door open, Claire and Peter in one room, Nathan and René in the other. It didn't make much sense to Peter, Nathan wasn't strong enough, but Nathan said, "Stop treating me like I'm a fucking invalid, Pete," and Peter recoiled as if he'd been slapped, felt it that way, only Nathan's expression didn't change, just remained stoic and determined, and Peter backed away.

**(Now)**

Dinner is canned pork and beans over a make-shift fire that Peter sets up using Ted Sprague's ability. Strange, that once upon a time this was what he feared the most: in comparison, killing six million people is nothing now. Perhaps Nathan would be President now, instead of gamely trying to force down a mouthful of preserved food. Except of course he wouldn't be, or only in the most awful of futures. All points lead to the end of Nathan Petrelli. He gives up after a few tries, and Peter says, "You should eat more. You need to keep up your strength."

"Yes, Mom," Nathan says, but he doesn't pick up the abandoned can. Instead he rubs his hands together and smiles wearily at Claire, who's managed to finish most of her food at least. Her head is pressed against René's shoulder, and Peter tries to remember the last time that René said a word, but he can't. It's almost comforting, his continued, steady silence, because Peter knows he speaks to Claire at least so it's most likely that he feels Peter doesn't deserve his words. Peter doesn't take it personally; most days he wouldn't speak to himself either.

Peter stalks over and kneels in front of him, shoves the food at him. "Don't make me force-feed you, Nathan. I swear I will."

"You're certainly welcome to try, Pete," Nathan says stiffly, but he picks up the fork again and shoves some of the food into his mouth, chewing defiantly. Peter rubs at a speck of food that's landed on his cheek with his thumb, ends up cupping Nathan's cheek, unwilling to let go. "I think I'm fine," Nathan says, pulls away, and Peter shakes himself. René shakes his head, and eventually, under Peter's supervision, Nathan manages to finish most of his can.

Peter scoots back until he's a safe distance away, hugs his knees to his chest. It's not cold, because of the fire, but he feels chilled nonetheless.

**(Four weeks ago)**

Peter drove while Nathan spoke on the cell with Heidi. Back then, they still had cell towers that operated, and Nathan kept saying, "No, Heidi, I don't give a fuck what the surgeon general says, don't go into the hospital. There is no cure, you understand. There's no treatment. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I know - she's a fucking idiot. Look, just do what I tell you to, okay. Stay in the house, don't let anyone in. We're coming to get you." He snapped the phone shut and tossed it angrily at the dashboard.

Peter said, "Everything okay?"

"Heidi's sick. So's Simon. It's probably just the flu though. They'll be fine."

In the end, Heidi listened to Nathan and stayed at home, but it didn't matter. Nathan found her in the living room, choked to death on her own vomit. He took the stairs two at a time, and eventually he came down with Monty in his arms. "Simon?" Peter asked, and Nathan shook his head. "Oh."

They thought, perhaps, that Monty would make it, but he was already sick, cheeks fever bright and skin clammy with sweat. He lasted another two days. When Peter said afterwards, "I'm sorry," Nathan, for the first time, didn't automatically respond that it wasn't Peter's fault. Instead he just stared blankly at Peter, then went back to digging his son's grave.

They buried him near a hill, a lonely, too-small mound of dirt under a tree. Nathan kept on digging and wouldn't stop even when Peter told him it was probably deep enough. "I don't want animals getting at my boy," he said. "Not my boy."

Peter pictured then, the entire world filled with graves, survivors jostling for the best spots to bury their loved ones. Row upon row of upturned earth, and in places where they preferred to cremate, the air thick with the scent of ash. "I'm sorry, Nathan," he said, but when he reached out Nathan flinched away.

> _Peter,_
> 
> _He dies on a roof, where I tried to hold on but couldn't. But he was already dead, and he was alone, and I didn't see it. I was angry with him for so long, and all the time he was dead. His last words to me were to fight the good fight. I can't help thinking that this isn't it. I'm too much of a coward though, to turn things back to the way they were. Maybe you can be braver than I am. I hope - this version of me makes the right decision. Nothing is too late._

**(Five weeks ago)**

It was Nathan that had the foresight to decide that they should leave - not long after the military showed up, and Nathan Petrelli stopped being the guy in charge and started being the Guy Who Lived. They ran tests initially, and Nathan always came back pale and unresponsive, only to tell Peter, "They still have no clue how I returned from the dead." Everything changed after Matt died, when there was no-one there to convince everyone that the Guy Who Lived wasn't all that important, and neither was his younger brother, the one that was there at ground zero and never got sick to begin with. Peter would have gladly given them samples of his blood, and more, but Nathan refused. They argued over it constantly. "But if it can help."

"What, so they can open you up and poke at you like some lab rat? No. I know these people, Peter. They're getting desperate, and I know what that kind of desperation leads to."

"I have to do something," Peter said. "I can't just sit here and watch people die."

He made for the door, but Nathan blocked his way and put his hands on his shoulders. He wasn't nearly strong enough that Peter couldn't brush him aside easily, but he didn't. Instead he just let Nathan hug him and whisper in his ear, "We have to get out of here. What can you do?" Nathan couldn't fly anymore. Peter didn't know if it was because of the virus or something else, but Peter couldn't fly either, so maybe that's just how it was.

Peter said, "I can do what Matt could. Not as well as he can, or for a long a period of time."

Nathan looked skeptical, but in the end he only shrugged. "It'll have to do."

It was harder than he thought it would be, security was tight and Peter didn't have the kind of practice and natural skill that Matt had. They made it through though, in a hastily appropriated humvee, Nathan busting through the gates with the determined glee of a madman, and when they were far enough that he figured they were free and clear, Nathan turned to him with an exhilarated smile and dragged him in for a hug. Mostly adrenalin and the rush of freedom, it would fade away soon enough because the world was still ending and they had no real place to run to, but Peter savored it while it lasted. He rolled down the window and watched the sun rise in the distance, a deep and burnished red that tinged the horizon in blood.

**(Now)**

They always stay out of the major cities to avoid the resettlement squads; René's not American, and Peter and Nathan are officially dead. Claire says dreamily, "I hope they have twinkies. I would die for a twinkie."

Nathan laughs, says, "Yeah, let's just look for the essentials first, okay." He pulls into a parking lot, and they all gape, wide eyed, at the cavernous Whole Foods in front of them.

"Do you think there's still power," Claire asks.

"One way to find out," Peter says.

He breaks the lock and the lights turn on when he finds and flips the switch, which is a good sign. "Guess the looters haven't made it here yet," Claire says, and beams.

Peter grabs a cart after they make sure they're alone and says, "Fifteen minutes, we meet back in front. Set your watches."

Claire skips down an aisle, René trailing close behind her. Nathan watches them go, tilts his head contemplatively. He only says though, "I'm going to go around back. Maybe see if the freezer is still working. I would kill for some meat that doesn't come out of a can."

"Yeah, okay I'm going to look for bottled water. Don't wander off too long, alright?"

"You worry too much. I'll be fine."

He's picking up water when Claire comes barreling around the corner in a shopping cart, legs sticking out and René propelling her forward, hands on the handles. It's possibly the first time Peter's ever seen René with a full-on smile on his face. His smile falters when he sees Peter, and Claire's laugh stops abruptly. The cart rolls to a stop and they both stare, wide-eyed, until René clears his throat and says, "I will go look for towels." When he's gone, Peter helps Claire clamber out of the cart.

He doesn't say anything, but Claire shoots him a sideways glance as she helps him pile bottles into the cart. "What?"

"Nothing, just."

Peter's not sure what to say. "He's twice your age," he tells her, as if it matters. Because it should matter. Any other time, any other place, it would matter. But they both already know that.

Claire spins around and says, "Yeah, whatever. Can we take more Evian? I like Evian."

"Your father won't be -"

"Please, don't start calling him my father now. My dad's dead." She crosses her arms, and suddenly she looks like Nathan, and this is when Peter knows he's lost. Not that he had any chance of winning to begin with. Claire's never been his or Nathan's, and anyone else she might have listened to is dead.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Why? None of this is your fault." She puts her hand on his arm, and Nathan must have spoken to her, because she says, seriously. "None of this is your fault, Peter. You need to remember that."

**(Six weeks ago)**

There were still gaps in his memories, people and places that he could't access. _Abilities_ that he couldn't access because he couldn't recall what these people meant to him. He tried, sometimes, the most important one being Hiro's, but all he could remember was Hiro's face as Peter slammed him against a wall. He wasn't sure when he lost that ability, only that it was gone, and at one point Nathan said, "Maybe it's the virus, it's affected you somehow," but they both knew that wasn't it. "It doesn't matter anyway, what do you think you could achieve?"

"What, you don't think going back in time to stop this from happening is worth it?"

Nathan's lips thinned. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he still didn't quite believe in such things as time-travel and how you could fundamentally change the world with just one action. A single one: Peter pictured it now, he could steal the virus at any time before it was released, and destroy it, and no-one had to die. Fundamentally, he knew it wasn't that simple, knew that one action could set off a chain-reaction of such proportions that even a time-traveler might not be able to unravel it, but he liked to cling to that faint glimmer of hope. That this future wasn't set in stone. That he could still save everyone. Nathan said, his hand on Peter's cheek, "Think about today, Peter. Think about whoever's left that we can save. That's what's important."

"Okay," Peter said, but he couldn't help but continue to try.

**(Now)**

"You don't try to stop time anymore. Why is that?"

"What?"

"Used to be every other hour I'd catch you with that silly expression on your face, you know the one, when you're trying to get Hiro's power. You don't do that anymore."

"Yeah, I guess I just figured you're right. There's no point trying to change the past. Might as well do my best to live in the present."

> _Peter,_
> 
> _This was the day I buried Nathan. Before that I took his body from a container in Arizona and put him on a plane loaded to crash. I'd say that was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's not. Saying goodbye was. We were never very good at letting go, were we?_

**(Seven weeks ago)**

"Hey," Peter said. Nathan didn't respond, he just slid deeper into the bathtub until nothing was visible above the bubbles except for his head and the sharp angles of his shoulders. He didn't want Peter to see how much weight he'd lost, weight he already couldn't afford to lose even before the virus struck him and made him sick.

Killed him, Peter had to remind himself. "Let me help you," he said, reaching out to get the sponge that was floating at the corner of the tub, and Nathan pushed him away at first, but finally he gave in, just the set of his jaw and the grim look in his eyes indicating how unhappy he was. Nathan hated projecting any kind of weakness, even to Peter. Especially to Peter. "You'll get your strength back," Peter said, as reassuringly as he could.

Nathan only snorted.

"But you've lost so much weight. You should eat more."

Nathan leaned forward so that Peter could wash his back, rested his head on his raised knees. "I'm fine," he said dismissively, but his eyes were closing in exhaustion and his breathing was shallow, uneven.

"No, even before that. You were so thin. I wanted to mention it, but then -"

"Yeah," Nathan pulled back a little, his hands worrying at each other, twisting aimlessly on his kneecaps. "You were dead. I thought you were dead. You don't know, Pete." He shook his head abruptly. "None of it matters anymore."

"Of course it does."

"No, it really doesn't." He grabbed Peter's free hand, turned his wrist around in a grip that was surprisingly strong. "I want -" he said, but in the end he just sighed and let him go.

Peter pressed up next to him, smoothed his brow, his cheeks. "Move," he said, and Nathan slid forward. Peter took his boots off, thumped them carelessly onto the floor, and climbed into the tub behind him. It was slightly too hot, but that was always how Nathan wanted it. He pressed the side of his face to the valley between Nathan's shoulderblades, sighed heavily. "It's okay, Nathan. It just takes time."

**(Now)**

Claire says once, they should maybe head to California, or anyplace with a beach. "I think I'd like to go someplace where I can see the ocean."

Peter pictures a sea with a mountain of bodies, water-filled and rotting, tiny crabs and sea urchins picking away at bloated flesh. Pictures them mutating and evolving; making a new kingdom of the world that humanity left behind. He tells Nathan, "Remember that beach house we went to during that summer."

"What, when you turned sixteen?" There's a strange, fond smile on his face. "You were impossible to live with."

"Who, me? You're the one that spent half the time whining about your injuries, how you'd never walk again, blah blah blah."

"Oh, tell me more," Claire says brightly.

Nathan shushes her and nods his head. "We'll go," he says, and he sounds distant, but faintly happy. "It surely can't be worse than anyplace else."

Peter takes shift at the wheel once they figure out how to get there, and in the evening, the rain sluicing down around them, Claire's head lolling against René's shoulder as she sleeps in the backseat, Peter glances over at Nathan and Nathan grins at him, and if he could capture this moment in amber, save it up for later, he would. If he could remember this moment afterwards, he would.

**(Eight weeks ago)**

"It's not your fault," Nathan said, and he was being unbearably generous, and Peter couldn't stand it. Hitting would probably be inappropriate. Anger would probably be inappropriate. Instead he curled his lip up, just to show what he thought of that statement.

"It's not your fault," Nathan repeated, with infinite patience. They were still trapped in this town, but at this point Peter wasn't quite sure why they still bothered with the quarantine, the first cases had already hit the west coast, and yesterday on the news someone reported an outbreak in Kuala Lumpur. "Peter," Nathan said, his voice hardening, "Now is not the time for self-recrimination."

"No, then when is it, Nathan? People are dead because of me. Dying because of me. The whole world." Nathan reached out for him, but Peter flinched away. Not here. It would destroy him. Couldn't Nathan see that. Obviously he couldn't, because he followed Peter as he walked backwards, until he hit the wall and there was no-where else to run. Peter started, and clutched at Nathan's shirt as Nathan pulled him in, held him tight. "All of this is my fault," he whispered. "You almost died. The world. The whole world. I saw it, Nathan. Ninety-three percent. Do you know how many people that is?"

"Shh," Nathan replied, instead of answering him. "Adam. You're not responsible." There was a strange tone in his voice, one that was tired and weary, and Peter pulled away, blinked at him. "I love you, Pete."

"I love you too."

> _Peter,_
> 
> _In the end there were only two choices. Two seconds. It's not too late._

**(Nine weeks ago)**

He sat faithfully at Nathan's bedside, watching him as he slowly died. His temperature rising while the doctors hovered around him in hazmat suits.

The make-shift hospital they'd set up in a row of warehouses for what everyone was calling now The Crisis was already filling up with the sick, and the bodies were starting to pile up. At some point Peter realized the doctors had stopped coming around for even the pretense of helping Nathan, and when he wandered out into the hallways it was always chaos, and everyone was either panic-stricken or sick.

So Peter removed all the sensors monitoring Nathan's status and removed him from the hospital. No-one stopped him as he carried Nathan out. Peter brought him to his room in the motel that had been appropriated for everyone trapped in the town. Under the covers, Nathan was fever-bright and beautiful, rash like a butterfly across his cheeks. Peter crawled into bed with him and hugged him tight, sang him lullabies that he vaguely remembered Ma singing to him when he was younger; sometimes Nathan, when he was home and Peter was sick. Nathan shivered, mostly, and Peter kissed his forehead, his closed eyes, his nose, listened to him as he struggled to breathe.

"Pete -"

"Shh, Nathan. Don't speak. You need to reserve your strength."

"I think it's a little late for that, don't you?"

"No. You're not going to die, Nathan. I'm not going to let you die."

"No, listen. You need to take care of Claire, okay. Heidi and the kids. Make sure they're okay. I keep trying to call them but I think they're still -" His eyes closed, and when they didn't open again Peter ran a thumb along his cheekbone, then kissed him again, gently, on the lips this time. Nathan didn't stir.

In the morning, Peter woke up and trailed his fingers down Nathan's pale face, and Nathan blinked slowly at him, and then he died.

**(Now)**

Peter tosses all the letters into the fire, pokes at them with a stick as they curl and turn black and finally crumple into dust. Nathan comes up to him and says, "Are those the letters you keep reading? The ones I'm not allowed to look at? You're suddenly tired of them?" He looks suspicious, but not overly so, the smile on his face one of fond amusement. Peter kisses him then, grabs him by the shirtsleeves down to his knees so he can kiss his stupid, precious face. "What are you doing, Pete," Nathan says, when he finally pulls free, his lips swollen and his cheeks high with color.

"I'm making a choice."


End file.
